


Donald’s International Houseboat of Pancakes

by AJtheBlueJay



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cooking, Cousins, Domestic, Family Feels, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Humor, Mornings, No Plot/Plotless, Pancakes, References to Depression, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJtheBlueJay/pseuds/AJtheBlueJay
Summary: Donald makes Gladstone pancakes. That’s about it, but there may be a little more below the surface.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Gladstone Gander
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Donald’s International Houseboat of Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> This ones been incubating for a while. Slowly getting back into writing fic again, so here’s a simple idea that I hope is very domestic and slice of life-y. Thanks to @isabellanajera for giving me a beta read. Glad to know you in the duck fandom. Enjoy, y’all!

Donald returned to reality from the gentle caress of dreamland and came face to face with a head of blonde curls attached to an elongated bill, staring intently as if he were waiting for him to wake up for hours. Donald quacked in shock and shot backwards right into the headboard. He grabbed his head and moaned in pain. It was way too early for a migraine, especially when the first goose he laid eyes on today, Gladstone Gander, was so adept at inducing them in him.

“Yeesh,” Gladstone winced. “Bad dreams, D-Money?”

“No, but I must be having one right now,” Donald grumbled as low as he could so Gladstone wouldn’t hear. He met his cousin’s gaze, the corners of his bill curled down. “What are you doing in my boat and why are you sitting on my belly?”

Gladstone shrugged. “Hey, can’t a guy have the freedom to drop in on his cousin whenever he wants?” He moved his hands behind his back innocently.

“Not when he barges into my bedroom at- what time is it?” Donald fumbled for his alarm clock, arm not quite reaching it.

“Breakfast time, Donny,” grinned Gladstone.

Donald stopped grasping at the air above his nightstand, looked at his annoyingly lucky cousin, and flopped onto the bed, sighing long and exasperated. “I shoulda known…”

“Shoulda known what?” Gladstone asked, obviously feigning ignorance.

“Shoulda known that Mr. Free Ride would only invade my personal sanctuary to grab a breakfast he didn’t have to cook himself.”

“Not true! Although since you’re offering…” Gladstone tapped his index fingers together.

Donald exhaled through his teeth. A moment of silence took hold, and then, “Whaddaya want, cuz?”

“Ooh! Pancakes! You make the best griddle cakes this side of Audubon Bay!” Gladstone licked his beak with hungry excitement.

Donald shook his head at Gladstone, contemplating briefly whether to grant his cousin’s request or to just kick the layabout loafer to the curb. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sadly, his greater conscience won out. “Okay, I’ll make you pancakes.”

He shoved Gladstone to the side, off his belly and onto the floor. Yawning a great yawn and stretching to the sky, he woke up as much as he could before scooting out of bed and away from his cousin.

Standing up and adjusting his green polyester suit, Gladstone shook his head. “Someone’s obviously not a morning chicken…” he mumbled, following his cousin out into the houseboat’s kitchen.

Taking a seat at the bar, he reacquainted with Donald at the far counter, who was grinding beans for the morning cuppa joe. The duck seemed to move with purpose despite his sleepy stupor as he popped into the pantry while the grinder made its racket. The noise died as Donald reemerged with a red plastic container marked “pancake mix.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gladstone began to protest, “I didn’t come all this way just to be fed some Betty Quacker hotcake-in-a-box.”

“It’s homemade mix. I make it ahead.” Donald set the container down and shot Gladstone a glare. “And who’s the cook here?”

Gladstone paused. “That a trick question?”

“No, it’s me. So hush.” Donald turned away and proceeded to pour the coffee grinds into a filter. He placed the filter inside his coffeemaker and topped it off with water. Replacing the pot, he switched on the coffeemaker. It wasn’t long before the air around them was filled with the soothing aroma of affordable national brand brown bean water.

Gladstone shifted in his seat as his sleep-deprived cousin dumped a cup of the mix into a plastic bowl. It left a cloud of dust hovering over the dry amalgam of powders. Donald then dipped into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of buttermilk and an egg.

“Pray tell, cuz,” said Donald, cracking the egg into a well he dug in the mix with his finger, “why make me cook for you when there are a thousand restaurants across town that’ll wine and dine you as their ‘millionth customer’ or whatever?”

“C’mon, Donny! That’s too easy! I could do that any other day. My cousin’s pancakes are one of a kind.”

Donald’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned away to pour out the coffee for them both. He handed Gladstone the steaming mug and said, “Next thing you’re gonna tell me ‘love’ is what sets my cooking apart, huh?”

Gladstone sipped. “Can’t be a cliche if it’s not wrong.”

“Flattery won’t getcha everywhere, cuz.”

“It’s gotten me here.”

“...touché.” Donald took a sip himself, then set the coffee down so he could pop the top off the buttermilk and pour a good glug into the mixture. 

He knew precisely why Gladstone had called on him this morning. It was his vengeful spirit against his lucky cousin that wanted the goose to say it out loud. So before breakfast preparation went too far, before Donald could be the good cousin he knew he was, Gladstone would have to pay the proverbial toll.

He took the whisk to the mixture with vim and vigor. As soon as it was just mixed, he set it down to his right and set his elbows on the counter, propping his head on his hands. “Bad day, cuz?”

The code phrase was out.

Gladstone’s beak opened slightly, and his eyes darted in opposite directions. No matter how cool and suave he was, his poker face was nonexistent among his family, and Donald knew it.

“What? N-nah! Everything’s hunky-dory! Why, heh, why wouldja...think that?” Gladstone was twiddling his thumbs. 

Donald sent him a knowing look. “Gladstone...I can read you like an issue of Lookie mag.”

Gladstone clutched at invisible pearls. “Ugh! Why must you hurt me so, dear cuz?”

“Dunno. It’s just my nature.” Donald narrowed his eyes and grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

For how uncomfortable his cousin made him in trying to keep this front up, Gladstone still felt safe and free to tell the truth to him. And that was the hardest part. He wasn’t worried about Donald. He could take it. He dealt with demons of his own. He would understand the most. But Gladstone couldn’t take it. 

His luck had brought him the highest of highs in life, but all too often, it was not enough to mask his inner sadness, an emptiness that couldn’t seem to be filled. And how pathetic was that? The struggle of reckoning with having everything and still being unhappy left him wallowing the day away in bed too many times. It had taken everything in him to get dressed and call on Donald today. And he still felt like he had to play his charming, upper-crust character to him. He felt he had to look like he had everything together to everyone, especially with his family. But Donald could see the cracks, and Gladstone knew it. Suddenly, he didn’t have the will to deny it anymore.

He slumped against the counter and sighed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “Not doin’ too good today, cuz.”

Donald looked him straight in the eye. “Thanks for telling me.” 

His comforting gaze brought some warmth back to Gladstone, and he found the energy to grin back. “Thanks for giving me the time o’ day.”

“That’s what family’s for.”

That was so very true, and Gladstone felt that fact truly made him the luckiest goose in the world.

Returning to the task at hand, Donald put a pan on the stove to heat. He removed the whisk from the batter and tossed it in the sink, a ladle taking its place. A knob of butter replaced the aroma of coffee with its sweet, nutty comfort as it sizzled in the pan. Swirling it briefly, Donald grabbed the bowl and ladled a heaping spoon of batter from it onto the pan. It cascaded in a thick stream to pool into a delicious, puffy circle, the butter crackling all around it.

Gladstone peered over the counter to see better. “Sooooo what’s the secret here, Don-o-Rama?”

“Love.”

Gladstone stuck his tongue out. “Sure, sure, we all love that ol’ cliche. What’s  _ really _ going on here?”

Donald chuckled. “Well, you really gotta control your heat. Some people would demand you use a thermometer, but I’ve gotten pretty good at telling just by my hand. And it’s gotta be hot enough to cook the inside just perfectly while also giving you that diner golden brown color.”

The pancake surface was comparable to the lunar surface, with its bubbles, craters, and bubbles becoming craters. Donald removed a spatula from the drawer beside the stove and smirked toward Gladstone. The spatula slid easily between the pan and its cake, and when flipped, the cooked side was a gorgeous golden brown, even all over. It was a sight to behold. Gladstone could almost cry, but he held it in, as he knew Donald would never let him live it down. But then, Gladstone had so many ways he could tease Donald that maybe he almost decided to let him have this one.

For all the times they made their rivalry public, Donald vastly preferred these simpler moments. Sure, it was fun to get a leg up on lucky Gladstone whenever he could, but those were quickly forgotten, lost in the ocean of his general anger. The moments that always stuck around to become memories were these quiet, homey moments, where they could just be family, equals by blood. No matter what, that fact would remain.

The pancakes plated and syrup generously drizzled onto the warm beauties, Gladstone and Donald tucked into breakfast.


End file.
